


corrupted blood that began this (eldritch) liaison

by Archistratego



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bloodborne Fusion, Gen, M/M, minor thranto aka blink and you might miss it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23957413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archistratego/pseuds/Archistratego
Summary: When the red moon hangs low, a hunter must hunt.There are a lot of other people who have different ideas as to what the hunt should be about but Eli Vanto has a goal for this night. He wants to stop it all.
Relationships: Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo/Eli Vanto
Comments: 18
Kudos: 42





	corrupted blood that began this (eldritch) liaison

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Barb's beautiful fanart [here](https://barbwalken.tumblr.com/post/187894978384/bloodborne-au-because-i-can-and-im-weak), please go check it out!

The red moon hangs heavy in the sky, streets littered with debris and bonfires alongside strung-up corpses that were once human, while the cathedral bells are silent, tall building walls surrounded by the heavy scent of incense to ward-off beasts. The night of the hunt has already gone too far, Yharnam is burning and madness like spider-thin filament permeates the mind.

There is chaos enough that, even the lofty Choir is not exempt from participating, and _that_ is how Eli's hunt begins. 

  


* * *

  


The man's parlour is sickly enough to look blue-grey under the tinge of the moon.

Eli blinks, but is too exhausted for terror as the hunter-beast looms over him with one red eye as bright as the moon that hangs heavy in the sky.

"You're going to die if you stay outside."

"We're all going to die anyway if we don't stop the ascension," Eli says, lips cracked and bleeding. The hunter brings an vial to his mouth and Eli drinks, grateful for the water— 

—except, it is blood. Thick and coagulating, leaving behind a cold, tangy aftertaste. Eli splutters, disgruntled by the administration of blood from a stranger, and he's ready to throw fists to get away.

"It's my blood." The hunter clarifies, as if that ought to make things better. "I would apologise for the taste, but it is a small discomfort to pay in exchange for faster healing. Your injuries are more severe than you let on."

Well, yes, but Eli is not about to explain that turning against the Choir usually comes with a swift and painful death. The blows that rained down on him from a call beyond, like a thousand black stars hurling against skin and bone, shattering his ribs and causing him to topple into the sewers. He'd been lucky to hobble away and avoid the pig, only to eventually collapse, exhausted.

"I know you, Choir Intelligencer Vanto."

Eli licks his lips, feeling the effects of the blood, "you're not going to kill me?" If this hunter intends to kill him, then Eli has no choice but to use _that_ thing once again.

"After all the hard work to keep you alive?" The flimsy, half-sewed cloth covers the hunter's mouth, but Eli thinks he is smiling beneath. 

"The moon makes men act in strange ways."

The hunter draws back, and now Eli is certain he is smiling or at the very least, _amused_ by Eli's words. "It does, but I am afraid that the madness of the hunter's moon has nothing to do with my decision to save your life, Choir Intelligencer Vanto."

"Oh, great. What do _you_ want then?" 

  


* * *

  


By the light of the risen blood moon they hunt. 

Past the ashes of old Yharnam, deep into the woods, and down by the lake where Rom used to slumber until someone slaughtered her and caused the rise of the moon to continue. 

Eli touches the empty chair left behind by Wilhelm. "Someone is ahead of us," he grimaces, adjusting his garb, feeling the slime and blood staining the usual pristine white robes.

"No matter, we should rest." The hunter is already kneeling by the lantern, the tiny messengers clamouring for his attention as they reach up to grasp his fingers. "Go back to the hunter's dream."

"Isn't it just _your_ dream?" Eli asks, stepping around the left side, gravel crunching beneath black boots as he kneels opposite the hunter. The messengers now turn to him, tiny hands beckoning him to follow. "I don't even know your name."

"Mitth'raw'nuruodo," he pauses, giving Eli a look the Choir member cannot decipher, "But you may call me Thrawn."

"Thrawn, then." The name feels sacred on the tip of his tongue, even in it's shortened form. The Great Ones, their Kin, all of them have names that Eli barely dares whisper for fear they might turn to look at him in the depths of the hunt. But there is no escape Thrawn's eyes, the weight of his gaze.

Eli never points out that Thrawn bleeds white. 

Thrawn never points out that Eli has drank pale blood. _His_.

"You know," Eli begins with a casualness he does not feel, " _Every Great One loses its child, and then yearns for a surrogate_."

Thrawn stares back, and Eli is so sure he can see the shadows around him writhing, the red of his eyes growing wide, wide, wide like the moon that illuminates them. He can feel Thrawn draw close, close, close with his mouth parted in invitation. 

"Every Great One yearns for companionship."


End file.
